


the moment you arrived, they built you up

by cosmicpoet



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory, Near Death Experiences, Swimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 17:33:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15124436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicpoet/pseuds/cosmicpoet
Summary: Achilles and Patroclus languish in the soft water of a pool on a hot day. This is not a time or place for legacy, or memory, just two boys in love, and a mirage that threatens to cut that short.





	the moment you arrived, they built you up

Patroclus reminisces on another almost-memory. Much like skipping stones with his mother, his mind reminisces on something so golden that it almost cannot be real; but the radiance in his memory of Achilles affords him the knowledge that this cannot possibly be the creation of a simple boy as himself, far deep in love. Achilles is far too tangible, and more than that, a creature of the Gods themselves - he doubts that a mind as mortal as him own could even think to conjure the sheer dazzling beauty of a boy who is reaching out and almost touching the skies themselves.

But this is all before Briseis, before Helen’s vanity; this is the story of a languishing day in the sunshine and a place far too grand for Patroclus to ever feel comfortable touching his feet to hot earth.

The outside area is paved with tiles, sunlight seeps in and makes them warm to the touch; both he and Achilles must step lightly to avoid the blisters that may crop up, but no matter. A wild animal has been tamed into a stone fountain; only slight and little, but from it flows a steady stream of water, and with the surrounding flowers and trees that encapsulate the garden, Patroclus finds it easy to lose himself in the reality of all of this. Sitting grandly in the centre of the garden, a pool of clear water lies still, not the turbulent waters of the ocean that herald a Sea-Nymph harbouring a hatred for the mortal Patroclus - this is artificial, and somehow that makes it safe. The water borders over the edge of the garden, giving everything the impression of stretching onwards into infinity, but that doesn’t scare Achilles; his long, deep brown arms welcome the sun as he hangs his head over the edge and taunts the Gods with the idea that he could fall off and die this instant, destiny and fate be damned.

“The water is cool,” Achilles says lazily, lifting up his hand from the water and examining each of his slender fingers in the sunlight, “you should join me.”

“I still have to study,” Patroclus replies, “and I much prefer watching you.”

With a pout, not used to being denied of anything, Achilles bobs his head under the water and resurfaces again, his golden hair dripping wet and sticking slick to his shoulders. With a daring smile in Patroclus’ direction, he kicks his legs against the side of the pool and cuts through the water like a knife; it takes him merely one and a half strokes to reach the other side.

“How fast was I?” Achilles asks.

“Faster than last time, but you still haven’t managed to navigate the width with one stroke only.”

“Perhaps if you were in here, I would have someone to race against.”

“You would beat me.”

“Of course. But it would be fun.”

Patroclus, obedient and as in love as ever, obliges. The water is cold at first, but he follows Achilles’ lead and dips his head underneath; all sound drowns out of his ears, and his body adjusts to the temperature.

Laughing, they lie on their backs, supported by the water. Although the sun beats down upon theirlimbs, heavy with Patroclus’ anticipation of nostalgia and melancholy sentiment, neither of them make any effort to move into the shade. 

_One day,_ Patroclus thinks, _this will all be memory. I am sure I will die for him, and this day will turn to dust, having no-one left alive to cherish it._

Caught in his own mind, he fails to notice that Achilles’ talking has ceased. He got so used to hearing Achilles ramble on about something, caught in his voice and the softness of his articulation, that it became second nature long ago to tune everything out and let the lull of his lover sing him towards calm. But, thinking on this, the silence permeates every corner of his body, and he shoots himself upwards, bobbing in the shallow end of the pool.

Over at the deep end, he sees Achilles, strangely calm. His arms, pointed upwards, as if reaching for his destiny within the Gods. His mouth, under the water, lolled open in a half-gasp.

He looks beautiful. _He looks dying._

With a quick, intuitive breath, Patroclus dips under the water and swims as fast as he can towards Achilles, looping a gangly arm around his waist and pulling his mouth above the water. He hoists his lover onto the hot tiles, but they seem to be burning, and so Patroclus braces himself and burns his own body against the floor so that Achilles may lie on him, instead. With panicking breaths, he tries to recall what to do in the case of drowning, but his mind comes up short; still, he thinks and thinks, damning his brain until he feels a faint cough from Achilles’ body. Patroclus holds his lover’s head in his hands and angles it upwards, so that any excess water can leave his airways and he can breathe again.

“Achilles!”

“P-Patroclus,” Achilles chokes, still smiling.

“What happened?”

“I…”

“No, sorry,” Patroclus whispers, smoothing Achilles’ hair out of his face and rubbing his back to help him cough up any extra water, “take your time to feel better.”

“I’m fine, Patroclus.”

“Let me at least get you inside.”

“I want to lie in the sun.”

“But the tiles are hot, darling.”

“I’m not on…oh. I didn’t even think.”

Patroclus smiles. He’s sure that by now, his back will be burned and sore in the morning, but it’s not like he particularly cares about that right now.

“Come on, let’s walk a little towards the shade,” Achilles continues, taking Patroclus’ earlier smile as comment enough.

“Can you walk?”

“Patroclus, I’m destined for much greater than this. A little water won’t hurt me.”

In the shade, Patroclus lies on his back again, trying to cool the burns to prevent a little of the hurt that he’s anticipating for tomorrow.

“I thought I saw my mother,” Achilles says.

“What?”

“In the pool. Under the water.”

“But it’s…not…”

“I know. It was probably a trick of my mind but…it threw me off.”

“So that’s why…?”

“Yes. I’m a proficient swimmer, so this isn’t my fault. It’s the fault of my mother’s mirage.”

Patroclus bites his tongue.

“Well,” he says to Achilles, “she isn’t here. It’s just you and I.”

_As it should be._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you liked this :^)
> 
> I reread The Song of Achilles over two days, the second of which I went to France for a holiday with my family. The villa here is absolutely beautiful, and we have a private pool, which means I can swim as much as I want! The descriptions of setting in this fic are just taken from the place I'm staying in currently (and I'm writing this on an outside bed with a four-poster wooden canopy over it, which is HEAVEN).
> 
> This book takes me back to being fifteen four years ago. It's always going to have a little place in my heart, I think.
> 
> Title from 'Dying in LA' by Panic! at the Disco. It reminds me of Achilles and Patroclus!


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